


dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free

by significantly



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, and harry is practically a fangirl, but you have to squint your eyes, everyone picks on harry bc why not, harry is obsessed with louis, i cut out the porn im sorry, if you look really closely you might be able to see a Great Gatsby AU, it has a little but of louis worship ngl, liam has no hair, like to a creepy point, louis is worried harry is in love with the idea of him, niall puts aside his feelings, this is so bad, zayn is a supportive best friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/significantly/pseuds/significantly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> it wasn’t some big secret. and it’s not like he was the only one more than interested in him, harry told himself. louis truly was what someone might call a social enigma, all blurred edges with that stupid smokey hepburn-esque allure. it was only natural to be a bit curious. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>harry wasn’t a stalker. he just liked to know where the boy was and what he was doing because for some odd reason he found louis endlessly fascinating and brilliant despite not knowing anything about him. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>or; harry is a little more preoccupied with the tomlinson boy than he should be and one day he gets something no one else gets: an invitation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free

**Author's Note:**

> if you squint your eyes you might be able to see the loosest of loose great gatsby aus.  
> so much fluff ahead. like so much. you're warned.

sometimes harry swore he could see louis sitting in the library like he used to, one leg popped up by his chest, the other dangling off the small plastic chair. he had a slight infatuation with the boy, he could admit that. it wasn’t some big secret. and it’s not like he was the only one more than interested in him, he told himself. louis truly was what someone might call a social enigma, all blurred edges with that stupid smokey hepburn-esque allure. it was only natural to be a bit curious.

but, see, it used to be easy to watch the boy.

not that he was watching louis, of course. harry wasn’t a stalker. he just liked to know where the boy was and what he was doing because for some odd reason he found louis endlessly fascinating and brilliant despite not knowing anything about him.

because that was the thing: no one knew anything about louis tomlinson, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. he kept to himself, spoke only when spoken to, almost seeming to try to stay out of the spotlight. the irony of his personality was in how much it contrasted from his reputation. there wasn’t anyone in doncaster who hadn’t drunkenly snogged in tomlinson’s downstairs loo.

harry’s friends did not fail to notice his preoccupation with louis. he was teased relentlessly, especially when caught looking for the boy. niall had told him he was acting like a girl with a crush. harry told him to fuck off. he was just confused, and that was what bothered harry the most. he liked figuring things out, he liked knowing more than anyone else—prided himself on it even. he was the smart harry styles. he was on the top of his class. he was going to be a writer one day, just like his mother. and in a way, louis’ refusal to make sense offended harry deeper than any teasing or insult.

\--

louis tomlinson hadn’t come into school since last tuesday, and no one was more upset by this than harry.

harry was hesitant to bring up the topic to his friends, though. despite being blood relatives with niall, it didn’t stop the blond from being brutal without meaning to. one wrong comment and the rest of the day would involve horan calling him things like “princess” and “babycakes” and an “absolute rose”. harry’s femininity was niall’s number one source of enjoyment. he had good intentions, deep down, harry told himself. there was just something about tomlinson that put niall off. but who didn’t get that reaction from the boy?

but as harry looked over the back of his chair, to the desk where the feathery-haired boy usually sat, he found his curiosity getting the better part of him. “have you seen tomlinson?” he asked, low enough so that zayn, who was working on the assignment next to them, couldn’t hear and join in. he’d moved from Bradford the year earlier, and the three of them developed a sort of friendship distinctly based off a mutual disdain for their peers. while niall chose the direct approach of casually laughing at harry, zayn made little noise. his mouth would tug into something halfway between a grimace and a smirk, and the rest of the day he would give off a light aura of judgment, which was the most infuriating one of all.

no, they didn’t hate or bully him. they just thought it was funny that little, fragile harry would become infatuated with an icon for everything he stood against. harry had to admit it was a little funny himself.

but now, with mr. hayes droning at the front of the class, he was prepared for what might come next.

niall looked back at him, and then behind harry’s head where tomlinson’s desk sat. he smiled. “i heard he was in prague. but then again zayn heard the same thing except with venice. he could be anywhere, mate. probably hung over in a sinking gondola somewhere in italy.”

“he’s probably high,” zayn interjected, paper forgotten. “i heard he deals drugs on the side, and that’s how he pays for those parties. jesy says her sister knows a guy who buys from him.”

“bullshit!” harry hissed, so loud that everyone within a three foot radius turned to glare. “he’s not a drug dealer, and he’s not in venice! his parent’s cars are still in the driveway every day; he wouldn’t go without them, would he?”

zayn shrugged, uninterested, and turned around. niall winked.

“babe, if you want to know so bad, go up to the house and ask the boy yourself.”

“can’t do that,” harry mumbled. “don’t know him well enough. a bit weird of me, ‘innit?”

“go to the party this friday, then!”

harry blushed. “i wasn’t invited, you know that.”

niall sighed. “no one gets _invited_ to a tomlinson party, mate. we just show up. every friday, like clockwork.”

“well what if he doesn’t have one this friday?”

“he _always_ has a party, whether or not he advertises it. his parents are never home then, so what does it matter? he’s never kicked us out. i'm sure you could get him to squeeze into a broom cupboard with you, harry, so there’s always a perk.”

harry didn’t respond. he picked up his pen, biting indolently at the end, and tried to focus on the board instead of how much he missed the tap of tomlinson’s oxford shoes on the back rack of his chair.

\--

he knew it was a lost cause. louis didn’t show up to any of the classes they had together, crushing any improbable hope harry held that the boy would come in late. but harry still went to the library after school, quietly making his way through the rooms and scanning the groups for the familiar tuft of russet brown hair. there was none.

maybe he moved, harry thought, and the cars were still there to pack up their things. maybe he was on vacation or maybe he was sick or maybe he _died_. maybe harry should have stopped caring a long time ago.

harry was surely insane. there was no other explanation for his infatuation. sometimes he could still feel tomlinson’s gaze digging into his shoulders, his hot breath curling into the nape of harry’s neck. tomlinson had been and would always be a constant presence. for all of harry’s life, he took small solace in knowing that the boy lived right across the street. they were never friends, not even close, but tomlinson was _his_ neighbor. the social enigma, the most popular boy in school, the man who made the world interesting by just stepping into a room, lived right in front of him. not everyone got that sort of luck and pleasure in life. and harry, though he had never gone to a single one of louis’ parties or made a relationship past friendly nods, took pride in knowing he was the only one who could say that.

so when harry stumbled his way home over the rocky path of the pavement and heard a familiar roar coming up from behind him, the breathe swept right out of his lungs. he stopped walking, staring down at his white chuck taylors, eyes fluttering shut and back open again. after a breath, he looked back up just as the hum of the engine reached his peak, and his gaze lingered to the yellow car speeding off and disappearing to a point in front of him. his hair ruffled from the produced wind. the tomlinsons are back, he thought airily. he couldn’t explain the emotion holding onto his chest right then, the iron grip of releasing his lungs.

he ran the whole way home.

\--

niall pinched harry’s cheeks the next morning as mr. hayes took attendance. “you’re an idiot,” he said. “stop worrying about lover-boy.”

zayn rolled his eyes, but he was smiling good-naturedly.

louis made his way over to his desk behind harry, and maybe harry was imagining the smirk on his lips as their eyes met. maybe the brush of fingertips against the spine of his neck was in his head. maybe the way niall turned around when he saw louis was just coincidence. maybe the way niall glared was simply on accident. it probably wasn’t.

\--

every friday night, harry sat on the bench under the stone window alcove in his room. across the street, the flickering strobe lights escaped the stain-glass windows of the tomlinson manor. cars were scattered in the streets.

on his lap, harry was ticking away math problems with ease. he preferred to do his homework as early as possible, so the weekend was his to relax. besides, what else was he supposed to do on a friday night?

harry only had two friends, and they preferred to get charmingly inebriated most weekends. that left harry alone with his calculus homework and his cheeky cat, dusty.

he knew that if he wanted to, he could cross the street and pull open the iron-wrought gate protecting louis’ home. he knew no one would notice his entrance, knew that people would be dancing and grinding and wouldn’t even see him. he could go to a tomlinson party if he wanted to. the thing was, harry had only been seriously drunk twice in his life, the first of which ended up in heavy, throbbing hangover, and the second leading up to the realization that he wasn’t totally completely one-hundred-percent straight.

(the last of which he was still coming to terms with. he didn’t have any experience to really test the theory except for late nights alone under his sheets.)

for a second, he seriously considers it. he wants to see tomlinson’s face, wants to know what he looks like pissed and flustered and red-cheeked, whether or not his voice gets octaves lower when he’s drunk or if it’s the same melting-honey sound it always was. his fingers itched, and his breath fogged up the glass he was staring out of. but that’s not his time.

on the balcony of the tomlinson manor, churning bodies and drunk mishaps filled the tiled patio. harry saw dark masses leaning too far over the edges, red plastic cups handing loosely from their palms. though most of them were paired up, a few flew solo. harry tried not to notice the short, unassuming figure peering out over the landing. he tried not to notice how much it looked like the boy was staring directly back at him.

\--

niall had been cut off by his parents after an incident a few months ago. he'd come home completely drunk off his mind, singing irish folklore with red cheeks and red eyes, and in consequence was stripped of his car, money, and social privileges. given this, harry never understood how he was able to show up at his house pissed.

it was nearing three in the morning, the moon hanging solemn in the sky, and the music pulsing from across the street was just starting to die down. harry's parents were gone, as per usual, but harry himself had neatly packed away his (completed) homework and slipped cozily into his bed by eleven. he was a light sleeper by nature but was used to being woken in the middle of the night by zayn or niall knocking at his door.

that night, both of them hung on his porch, slagging against each other, clothes rumpled.

"you were at the party?" harry asked immediately, reaching for niall's other side.

"said i was going, didn't i?" niall chuckled.

that was true. harry dumbly assumed when niall was cut off that he was _actually, legitimately_ cut off. he should have realized that parents weren't enough incentive to stop something niall cared for. it wasn't drinking. it was people. niall ran on affection, gained confidence from the praise of others, fueled on the idea of befriending the world. he loved people more than he loved himself; he couldn't stay away from the beating thrum of a party longer than harry could escape it.

the drinking certainly helped, though. all stereotypes aside, harry worried. zayn worried as well, just more silently. niall had a tendency to show up at the parties hosted by those he hated most, louis tomlinson being one of them. zayn thought it was a pride thing. harry thought it was something a lot more delicate than that. neither of them pushed.

together, harry and zayn hoisted niall up the carpeted steps to his bedroom. niall laughed heartily and shucked off his shoes.

"there's more people," harry noted.

zayn shrugged. "never really notice."

harry did. "the numbers are getting bigger. more and more people going to tomlinson's parties."

"are you're still not one of them? a little party never killed nobody, mate."

"i told you, i don't like parties."

"how could you know that, if you've never been to one?"

harry pressed his lips together. the moonlight filtering in through the open window was cutting zayn's face into fragments of light and dark. he pulled off the thick flannel from his shoulders and handed it to the younger boy. when they first met, harry thought zayn was the most frightening person he'd ever seen. now, he was gentle on the eyes and gentle on the heart, and harry was more grateful for him than he cared to admit. he couldn't quite pinpoint at what part of his life he became so reliant on these two.

"shut that window. i don't like sleeping in the cold, you know."

harry knew from experience that zayn could sleep in any conditions, but he didn't push. his toes dug into the carpet as he lifted the hatch and locked the window shut.

"do you think what happened at jay's party is why this is happening?' harry asked quietly, shuffling towards zayn on the floor. from his bed, niall let out a dog-like snore and rolled over, asleep.

zayn stuck out a comforting hand. harry held it between his palms.

"probably," zayn whispered back. "you don't know tomlinson, harry. you've never even spoken to the boy. he's been gaining loads of friends for reasons you don't understand, and he has a lot of connections."

"i heard his father was an oxford man," harry whispered, awestruck. "is that true?"

"i don't know. his house is quite large and quite expensive. i can only assume that his parents are educated."

harry let that sink in. a real oxford man. that probably meant louis was going to be one as well. his toes curled at the thought.

"i'll tell you something, if you promise to keep it a secret. and promise to get the guy out of your head."

the breath left his lungs. he turned to see that zayn was laying so lazily next to him, arms tucked lightly in on himself. despite his casual appearance, though, his face looked scared. harry nodded hastily.

"i spoke to him today."

"what! wh--"

"shh, harry. shut up, you're gonna wake niall. it will just upset him. keep your voice low."

"why would it upset niall?" harry asked dubiously, although he already knew. niall's disdain for the tomlinsons wasn't something he hid.

zayn sighed. it hung heavy between their skin. "they had a falling out, once before. niall blames him for getting cut off--whatever. it doesn't matter. you know they don't like each other. but," he says pointedly, "he cares more about whether or not you're happy."

"quite nice of him," whispered harry. "what did louis want with you?"

"wanted to ask me about you."

he let that sink in. for the longest time, harry watched louis positively certain that no one would recognize his affection. he was certain that he would never get closer than waves or nods or heated cheeks. it was a strange concept that someone, anyone--tomlinson, especially--would think about him or speak about him without his presence. nothing happened to harry.

but louis had picked zayn out of the crowd with an intent, with harry in mind. it was unthinkable. insane. it gave him butterflies.

"he was wondering where you were. whether or not you were well."

"why wouldn't i be well?"

zayn made a noncommittal noise and shrugged. "i dunno, mate. but he did. at first he asked if you were here with niall and i, and when we said you didn't think you were able to, he..."

his breath caught. "he what?"

zayn shook his head. "nothing, i guess. he changed the subject. started talking about his father and about going to college in the fall. seemed a bit tense. thought you should know. you could add it to your scrapbook or summat."

"you know i don't have a scrapbook," harry huffed (or at least he tried to; there was something like affection rising in his throat).

"go to bed," zayn sighed. "the party has stopped. niall's parents are going to be off the wall in the morning, so we all might as well get a good night's sleep if we're gonna deal with that."

"m'kay." harry pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. "do you think louis was upset i wasn't there?"

even in the darkness, harry knew zayn was rolling his eyes. "whatever you want to think, harry."

harry smiled, accepting that, and dozed off with the sound of louis' beating music like the pulse of his rapidly beating heart.

\--

by monday, harry had all but forgotten about his and zayn's conversation. it remained a constant presence in the back of his mind. a reminder that, though he might be invisible to most of the school's small population, he wasn't to the only person that really mattered.

as odd as it sounded, it was that idea that helped him survive the day. he wandered abysmally through the school hallways, class after class, ignoring the taunts behind his head while in the back of his mind he was blushingly coming up with couple names for them. by the end of seventh period, he decided that ' _larry'_ was the best he'd ever come up with. 'houis' just sounded wrong.

when he arrived at the library at two-oh-one that afternoon, he wasn't expecting to see the boy. louis hadn't come to his favorite reading spot in nearly weeks, and the solace harry found in it (while lessened) was still something he couldn’t ignore. but when he picked up his copy of _pride and prejudice_ , there was a unfamiliar (yet entirely not so) face waiting patiently for his attention.

louis tomlinson was standing there, in the flesh, like an ethereal hologram of his dreams. he was every ounce of perfect harry had always thought him. up close, he could see louis was a bit different. he had a chipped tooth in the back of his smile and his fringe stuck up in weird places, like he'd been running his hands through it, but his eyes were the same cerulean blue harry loved.

"hello."

"hi," harry pitched. "louis, right?"

as if harry wasn't completely in love with him. as if he hadn't been dreaming of a moment like this since freshman year.

louis looked amused and gave a half smirk. "yes. you're harry." it wasn't a question. louis knew who harry was.

"you're back."

"have been for quite some time," louis said matter-of-factly. he stuck out a hand and took the book from harry. he had small hands, and cute, dainty wrist bones. harry suddenly felt very clunky and big in comparison. harry spent most of his time trying to be smaller than he really was. not everyone was blessed with the tomlinson grace and beauty. "this is a... lovely choice. i have a collection of books."

"yeah?" harry replied. "i love austen. wanna write like her some day."

"honestly... i'm not quite familiar with literature. the collection's my dad's. but i could show you some time."

harry's eyes widened. "you mean that?"

"you only live right across the street, harry. it wouldn't be too much of a hassle, you think?"

he felt weightless, floaty, like a balloon who's strings had just been cut. "i would love that, louis."

"of course," louis muttered, handing the book back, "you could have always checked it out at one of the parties."

"never been," sheepishly admitted harry.

"i've noticed." louis smiled. "it's nice seeing you, harry."

and just as soon as louis had come, he was gone, disappearing behind a bookshelf. harry swallowed a scream of joy.

he was _not_ a twelve year old girl with a crush. he just liked the boy, that was all. but if he said he didn't run home and call zayn in a breathless frenzy, he wouldn't be entirely truthful.

\--

he gets an invitation the next morning. harry notices immediately, because the red flag on their mailbox is up, which almost never happens. he reaches inside and pulls out an elaborate envelope. his name if written on the back in curly script.

"oh god," harry whispered. carefully, he plucked out its contents. 

written (by hand) in script just as elegant as the outside, was the following: _Harry Styles, you have been (not-so-cordially) invited to Tomlinson residence Friday, the fifth of April, 2013, for a social house party. Drinks and food will be served. We look forward to having your presence. Sincerely, Louis William Tomlinson._

\--

he didn't let anyone touch it, but they all seemed so interested to look.

"no way," zayn muttered. "that doesn't make any sense. no one gets an _invitation_ to a tomlinson party."

"i did," harry told them proudly. "in my mailbox this morning. what do you think it means?"

"i reckon he wants you to go to the party, mate," niall added unhelpfully. harry had been worried about niall's reaction, but he'd been handling the information pretty well, overall. perhaps zayn was correct, as he usually was. perhaps he cared more about harry's happiness than a year-old feud between the two of them.

zayn shook his head. "i don't believe it."

"it's right here, zayn." harry held up the invitation and waved it. he was showing off, but he didn't care. louis tomlinson was the type of thing you show off.

the older boy lunged forward to take the card from him, but harry was too quick and too tall to let anyone harm it. he put the card back in the envelope and sealed it, especially careful to not rip the edges.

\--

on friday, zayn and niall showed up at harry's house an hour before they were to cross the street and open up the wrought gate of the tomlinson manor.

"i can't decide what to wear," harry complained.

niall took a sip from his cola and smiled a bit ruefully. "as long as it's not what you're wearing now, h."

harry looked down. his black skinny jeans were ripped in the knees and the silk button up shirt he picked out was so sheer you could see the soft, pudgy planes of his chest.

zayn took harry by the upper arm and brought him back to the bed. "sit down. i'll pick something out."

as he went to scavenge something decent, harry undressed.

"i'm okay with it, you know," niall piped. his cheeks were round and red and he wasn't even tipsy yet, but his eyes were so careful and loving harry couldn't deny his words. "i had a feud with tomlinson a while back, but it was dumb. who am I to deny you someone you've been crushing on for years?"

harry balanced on his toes for a second before standing straight again. "so.. you were never.. together."

niall laughed. "god, no. i was jealous. he throws these brilliant parties. social elite of the school without trying. how easy he must have had it. me and jay used to be the people with the parties you know? and then he got caught and i got cut off and then tomlinson showed up with his big gates and fancy cars and his parties became the parties of a lifetime." he paused. "i know you like him. all i'm saying is that my hate is dumb 'nd he's actually a pretty ace guy. i'm okay with it."

harry was so grateful for niall he could have kissed him. he reached up and pecked the crown of niall's blond hair, and the shorter boy let out a hearty laugh.

"get'off me, yah tosser!"

"i can't help it! you're too cute!"

niall laughed, eyes squinting together, and zayn threw a half-hearted "don't hurt him" from behind them. he emerged from the closet seconds later with a new pair of trousers and dark green button up. harry thanked him as they all got dressed. once finished, harry stared breathlessly out the window. cars were already starting to fill up the street.

"ready?"

\--

inside was not what harry expected. he saw the movies, the magazines, the shows. he watched every season of skins the week he was home sick a few months ago. but this party was bigger, louder than anything he'd imagined. just listening to the sound from his safe little window alcove didn't measure up to the real party. the music was thumping, like a collective heartbeat of everyone grinding against each other in the center of the room.

zayn was gone immediately, running off into the arms of someone much bigger with a shaved head and a small smile.

niall stayed not two seconds longer, running off somewhere after asking harry carefully if he was okay being alone. harry said yes as more of a reassurance than a truth. he was surrounded by an overwhelming amount of partially naked people, and he wasn't sure if that made him comfortable. he tugged nervously on the cuff of his shirt.

he learned quickly how hard it was to navigate the house. people were so handsy, rogue limbs hindering his path. he eventually found his way to the spiral marble staircase in the foyer, which was also rigged with intoxicated students. very few people recognized him but some caught his eye, calling, shouting his name behind him. harry ignored the voices. he usually did.

but upstairs--upstairs was beautiful. like a real, proper manor, a long hallway lined with books and shelves and busts. his fingertips trailed the frayed, woven bindings of novels he was sure were centuries old. were these what louis had told him about? the extensive book collection he was promised? there were probably thousands, exceeding any of his expectations. they were stacked on walls and shooting up to a ceiling so high he could barely make it out. they really should have been behind a case. there were too many people willing to take them and earn a few.

he really thought an invitation would allow him to speak to tomlinson, but so far he hadn't spotted him. there was still a long time to go, however.

he continued his way down the hall, hoping behind one of the many doors would lie a pretty fringe and a sharp tongue. instead he found several people attached by the lips, a drunk boy bent over the bathroom sink, lots of half-naked, churning bodies, rogue teenagers and people he assumed were just looking for a good time. the hallway was a sloping, curving road, like back trail, and harry followed it till he found the dead end.

at the end was anticlimactic. a single set of heavy double doors, no sign or window or noise from the other side. harry used all of his strength to pull it back and caught his breath.

he was wrong before. those books weren't his collection, just pretentious show. this was the real master library, the lines of books and columns of literature. harry walked in, legs weak, and found himself surrounded on all sides by a wide, circular shaped room topped with a golden etched dome. his head craned all the way back, he stared at the glass panes on the ceiling. through it, he could see the vague outlines of starlight, but the night was too dark and the rain was too think. drops of water were pelting the glass and ran down the sides in wet rivets. harry was cold. there was not a single person in sight.

he walked further into the room. the heels of his boots made clicking noise too loud for the comparatively silent room. he reached for the first bookshelf he could find. too many bindings, too many stories. he felt his stomach drop. harry always knew louis tomlinson was rich. he lived in front of the manor all of his life, saw the people walking in and out, the business suits, the parties, the important brief-case clad men coming and going as they pleased. but this made him shake.

harry's gasp was audible as he heard the sound the heavy doors open and then close behind him.

"do you like them?"

louis had his hands in the pockets of very expensive looking trousers, the sleeves of his blue button down rolled up to reveal a string of dark, intricate tattoos. he looked so pretty, so delicate harry wanted to scream. he suddenly felt very mundane in his carefully picked out attire.

"you said you had a lot of books."

"i wasn't lying."

"i never thought you were."

louis walked up to the table in the center of the library. he picked out a chair and sat down, crossing his small ankles. "were you sneaking around, harold?" his nose scrunched up.

harry smiled, suddenly a lot more relaxed. "your party wasn't to my taste."

"they never were."

harry cocked a hip and lifted a hand to toy with his earring. he was bad at this, but louis was oh-so pretty and the rain was slapping so hard against the roof he didn't seem to care. in his head, it was almost as if whatever he did then wasn't real. not the party, not the invitation. louis was his mysterious, his social enigma, his own little secret that no one was allowed to have. louis knew how to make him feel special with just a small piece of paper and a bit of calligraphy.

"don't be so coy," louis said, belting out a laugh that made his eyes squint together. "come on, sit down. tell me something, why is it that i have to send you a personal invitation before you so much as bother to cross a little gate? was it too intimidating before?"

harry paused, pressing his lips together. "what d'ya mean?"

louis made a motion with his hands indicating that harry move closer and then sighed. "i mean i throw parties every single week, some big, some small. i made it perfectly obvious that anyone is allowed to come, make sure your friends arrive, that everyone's talking about it, and yet you've never once before made your way into my home."

"i was never invited," harry said, as if that explained everything.

louis smirked and rolled his eyes. "no one gets invited to my house, harry. they just show up. people know i’m the only one who can give them drinks and a place to crash, and they just appear every week. i expected you to amble in one day, and you didn't."

"is that why you invited me?" harry asked, a bit hurt that it wasn't something a bit more romantic. he didn't know what to expect with louis. no one really did.

louis didn't say anything at first. he kicked out the end chair of the table with his foot and indicated to it. "sit."

harry sat.

"you've lived across from me for years, harry. why didn't you come?"

"i've been to parties before," harry told him quietly, as if it were a secret. for him it sort of was. "i don't drink and i don't smoke, and people aren't really nice to me. i get strange looks and offhand comments, and i tell bad jokes. no one wants me at their parties, because i'm _bad_."

louis couldn't help the small laugh that came from him. "you? bad? harry, you're not bad in the slightest."

"i'm not bad as in a bad person, but i'm... _bad_. at like everything." harry tried to smile, but it probably looked more like a smirk.

louis leaned forward and tugged at one of harry's errant curls. the younger boy leaned into the touch. "if you're bad than what am i?"

harry shrugged. he nervously swiped back the piece of hair that louis moved. "you're certainly not a bad person. throwing parties doesn't make you bad."

"people think i'm dangerous."

"people are wrong."

"who am i, harry?"

"you...," harry stumbled. "you're the one everyone turned to after that party a while ago. jay’s party. when they were all caught. you're the one that distributes the alcohol after it was banned."

louis smirked. "you make me sound like a bootlegger of the twenty first century."

"you're a teenage boy."

"not everywhere."

harry laughed nervously. "you're not bad just because you handle people. you're a helper. a gatsby. you make your own fortune."

louis leaned forward still. they were so close, and harry wasn't breathing anymore. somewhere far away the sound of crashing glass and music growing steadily louder was starting to break their consciousness.

"god, if my father heard you say that," louis said weakly. from this spot, he could see every single one of his eyelashes, could count the individual freckles on his nose. "he made his fortune off making alcohol and i made mine the same way."

"is it true he's an oxford man?"

"does that turn you on?"

harry shook his head.

"too bad. pretty soon i'll be one as well."

"you're going to oxford?"

"this fall," louis said quietly. "i already visited a few weeks ago."

"that's such a hard school to get into," harry complained. "i will be lucky to get into a college at all."

"if you don't you can always visit me. i'll hide you in my dorm. you can wait in my bed until i'm out of class. we'll hit the books."

there's was no denying it—louis was about to kiss him, and harry was ridiculously unprepared. he hoped for a chat when he came to the party, he hoped simply to see louis tomlinson, but a kiss? he was so nervous, his palms were clamming.

there were soft brushes of their lips, not close enough to be a kiss, but too much to ignore.

"i don't want you falling in love with me simply because i make you feel special," louis said suddenly. "i don't want you to just be infatuated with his idea that i'm... gonna be this perfect person. that's i’m a good person."

"i'm not in love with you because of that," harry replied instantly, in the midst forgetting what he just revealed. louis' lips were not soft, and his chin was scratchy with stubble, but harry was squirming in his seat he wouldn't be surprised if soon he was in louis' lap.

"then what for?"

"how could i not be," harry asked. "you do not see yourself clearly. how alive you are."

louis sucked in a breath, but his lips were so close he was taking the air straight from harry's mouth. his lips tugged up, and his hands found their way into harry's trembling ones. "you're nervous around me."

"only a bit," harry admitted ruefully.

"don't be," louis told him. "i'm nothing to be impressed by."

harry scoffed.

" _you_ on the other hand, styles..." louis laughed breathlessly and shook his head. "kiss me."

harry didn't even think, he just pushed himself forward until louis' hands were holding him up by the hips, and harry's fingers were clutching onto louis' fringe like it was going to keep him grounded.

and harry was so bad at it. he was paralyzed with fear, and kissing in library with the muted light of a rainy night coming from the glass dome above them seemed like such a magical moment that harry was almost surprised he didn't suddenly develop the kissing skills of a sex goddess. but his lips were nervous and ill-practiced, and his hands were fumbling with the soft hair at the nape of louis' neck, and louis was soon giggling into the crease of harry's lips. it wasn't steamy, but it was something harry found so new and unexplored, just like louis himself, that he didn't feel like stopping. it was pleasant, having the push of someone else's lips against his own, and it was a little more than flattering that he could feel something hard pressing up against his thigh.

louis was so much better than him, but harry wasn't nervous like he was moments ago. shy, perhaps. but louis held so much life and charisma that it was impossible to not feel at ease. it was in his touch. harry didn't blossom for him like a flower. there was no incarnation. but harry did fall apart and fall in love with the small smile louis pressed into his. 

"and here i spent all these weekends throwing parties in the sole hope that one day you would wander into one, and all i had to do was approach you in a library," louis muttered into the junction where harry's shoulder met his neck.

"i would have come if you had just told me to. you can't just wait for fate. you have to interfere."

"will you visit me?"

"visit you?"

"in the fall, while i'm away? will you come and hide in my dorm and disturb my roommates."

harry made a squeak noise in the back of his throat. "are you really trying to say that with all the money you possess, you're going to be sharing a dorm instead of getting an off-campus apartment? practical."

louis leaned his head back. "it was a nice thought. you can visit me there, too, you know."

"i'm pretty good at cooking."

louis arched an eyebrow. "perfect."

\--

harry took his time kissing louis. he wasn't the best kisser, but all he needed was practice, something louis was willing to help him with. he wasn't ashamed to say he went to every party after that, even if he spent little to no time in any other room but the library, sitting on louis' lap, hands fumbling into new places, skin showing in new ways, breath coming out in starts and fits, like chains of gasps and whispered names. there was too much talking, too many giggles.

there was something entirely new he discovered in those parties as well: louis was not mysterious or quiet or smokey. he was loud, and loving, and a handful (literally), but louis kept finding new ways to have harry's breath taken away.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i actually cut out the porn oops.  
> anyways, the title is from the song mr. tambourine man by bob dylan. (bc ofc)  
> also i wrote this on word pad so let me know if there are spelling errors because they apparently dont have spell check.  
> thanks for reading! 
> 
> allison


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